


And the Huntsman broke down the door...

by jenna_thorn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-17
Updated: 2011-06-17
Packaged: 2017-10-23 23:50:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenna_thorn/pseuds/jenna_thorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt:Sam and Dean and Little Red Riding Hood</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the Huntsman broke down the door...

Dean racked the shotgun again. The key to being human and fighting something that was faster and stronger than you, he thought, was the joy of superior firepower. He heard the roar of the Mossberg from the side of the room where Sam should be and stepped out to drop the barrel to ribcage height and fire again. The wolf was in the center of the room when the first facefull of silver shards hit it, two steps away when the third did, and it folded to the ground under Dean’s arm, dead in mid air.

Dean blew out the breath in his lungs and shook his head, his ears still too full of the noise from the guns to hear Sam, so he pointed at the machete, then grabbed Sam’s ripped sleeve. Sam rolled his eyes as Dean wiped the blood away, but the skin below the gore was unmarred and Dean wiped his hands on Sam’s shirt with a grin. “Asshole,” Sam mouthed.

They followed their tracks back out of the building, pausing to retrieve Dean’s Glock where he’d been thrown against the wall and dropped it and again at the shredded metal of the garage door at the dock. Sam dropped from the dock to the alley below to gather their bag and held it open for Dean to slide his shotgun into it. They’d clean up when they got away from the busted open warehouse and dead chick. Dean grabbed the handles from Sam, who was standing like there wasn’t a body at his feet, looking down. The zipper of her hoodie caught the light from the streetlight and the red glow of the exit sign turned the blood over her jeans black.

Dean shoved at Sam’s shoulder to get him moving. She was dead and the thing that killed her was dead and they weren’t, and if Sam was thinking about pulling the hood of her jacket up to cover her open, sightless eyes, then he _needed_ a shove to get him going, get him away from a pretty girl in a ripped red jacket and black boots, sprawled broken and leaking in an alley. They didn’t need to give the feds more data points, and they’d walked away from worse than this.

He clicked the keys in his hand and shifted the weight of the bag over his shoulder and he didn’t let himself think of the ones they’d been too late to save.


End file.
